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Elizabeth‟s eyes widened as Rogan strode forcefully across the kitchen towards her. „What are
you doing?‟ she gasped, even as she took a wary step backwards.
Rogan‟s mouth twisted with satisfaction as that step brought Elizabeth up against one of the
kitchen cupboards, leaving her with nowhere else to go. „I‟m going to seduce you, of course,‟ he
told her, standing so close to her that he could see the nerve pulsing erratically in her throat and
the wide apprehension in her eyes. Could feel the heat of her body only inches away from his
own. Smell the perfume that was uniquely Elizabeth‟s.
She blinked nervously. „Rogan—‟
„Elizabeth,‟ he murmured throatily, his gaze easily holding her wary one as he slowly lowered
his head.
Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978,
and has now written over one hundred and forty books for Mills & Boon. Carole has four sons—
Matthew, Joshua, Timothy and Peter—and a bearded collie called Merlyn. She says, „I‟m
happily married to Peter senior; we‟re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best
recipe for a successful relationship.‟
The Master‟s
Mistress
by
Carole Mortimer
Chapter One
„…H E STOOD in the shadows of the night. Dark. Dangerous. A lethal predator. Glittering black
eyes stared in at the woman through the window as she moved about the bedroom wearing only a
towel draped about her silken nakedness. A slight smile curved her lips and she remained
completely unaware of the danger that lay in wait for her outside in the darkness.‟
Elizabeth felt a shiver down her spine as she looked up from the book she was reading to her
own bedroom window, wishing now that she had thought to draw the curtains before getting into
bed. Except, like the woman in the story, Elizabeth had believed no one would be able to see into
the second storey bedroom window of this remote house, perched high on the rugged Cornish
cliffs. The tide must be in, covering the sandy beach, Elizabeth realised as she heard the
roughness of ; the sea pounding against the cliffs.
She repressed another shiver before reading the next paragraph of her book.
„Shoulder-length dark hair framed a face of hard, sensual magnetism. Those intense black eyes
focused on the long creamy column of the woman‟s exposed throat and he could see the blood
pulsing hotly through her veins. He possessed harshly hewn cheeks, a fierce slash of a nose, and
chiselled lips that now drew back in a hiss to reveal elongated incisors as the woman dropped the
towel to reveal the naked perfection of her body—‟
Crash!
So intent had Elizabeth been on the description of the sexy predator stalking the heroine that the
sound of glass breaking somewhere downstairs made her gasp out loud, even as her fingers
tightened about the book that had already succeeded in frightening the life out of her without this
added scare!
What the devil was that?
Not a good choice of words, Elizabeth admonished herself shakily as she clutched the book to
her before slowly sliding out from beneath the bedcovers.
There was something—or someone—downstairs!
More than likely someone. Elizabeth didn‟t believe for a moment that her own intruder was a
real live vampire; the reason she enjoyed books like Dangerous as the Night was because she
knew that the night monsters and predators in these stories were totally fictional.
No, the intruder wasn‟t any monster or a demon. More likely a burglar. There had been several
break-ins in the area recently, and no doubt every burglar within a twenty-mile radius was aware
by now that Brad Sullivan, the American owner of Sullivan House, had died of a heart attack
almost a week ago.
What those burglars probably didn‟t know was that academic Dr Elizabeth Brown had arrived
two weeks ago, employed for the summer to catalogue the books in the Sullivan library, and,
because she didn‟t know what else to do until one of Brad‟s relatives arrived or contacted her,
she was still in residence!
What should she do about the noise downstairs?
What could she do?
Mrs Baines, housekeeper at Sullivan House for the last twenty years, lived in a flat above the
stable complex, to where she had disappeared once she had served Elizabeth her dinner and
cleared away in the kitchen. Meaning the other woman probably had no idea that the main house
had been broken into. There was no telephone extension in Elizabeth‟s bedroom, either, and she
had stupidly left her mobile in the library earlier, on charge overnight.
Elizabeth‟s heart began to pound as she heard more muffled sounds from the floor below. It
sounded like a voice muttering. A male voice, its tone impatiently aggressive.
Great. She couldn‟t just have a burglar break in; he had to be an angry one into the bargain!
Well, Elizabeth couldn‟t just stand here and wait for the man to come up the stairs in search of
valuables, only to find her cowering under the duvet in one of the bedrooms, hoping not to be
noticed. Burglar or not, she would have to go down and confront him. But obviously not without
a weapon of some kind!
Tucking her book distractedly under her arm, Elizabeth moved stealthily across the bedroom to
the door, opening it quietly to step out into the hallway, and pausing long enough to pick up the
heavy brass ornament that stood on a table in the wide corridor. She made her way softly to the
top of the stairs on the first floor so that she could look down into the huge reception hall. An
eerie glow told her that someone had put a light on somewhere downstairs since she had gone up
to bed half an hour or so ago.
Sullivan House was a three-storey mansion, originally built a couple of centuries ago for the
head of some now defunct titled family, and several doors led off the marble-pillared reception
hall. All of those doors remained firmly closed, with no visible light showing beneath them, not
even a flashlight.
Elizabeth leant further over the polished oak banister, able to see now that the light was coming
from the back of the house. The kitchen, most probably. Although what a burglar would find of
value to steal in there, she had no idea; the only things that weren‟t integral parts of the kitchen
were a microwave and an electric mixer. But there was also a set of sharp knives on top of one of
the work surfaces, Elizabeth remembered in alarm. Any one of which could do serious damage
to a person who dared to disturb the burglar!
Get a grip, Elizabeth, she instructed herself sternly, and she straightened her shoulders
determinedly. There was no way she could cower and hide and hope that the burglar would just
quickly take what he wanted and then go away. Whether she liked it or not—and she didn‟t!—
Elizabeth had to confront the man and hope that her presence here would be enough to scare him
off.
If it didn‟t…
She wasn‟t going to think about what would happen if the situation backfired on her. She was an
independent woman of twenty-eight. A university lecturer who had lived and worked in London
for the last ten years. She seriously doubted a Cornish burglar would be half as dangerous as
some of the strange people she was forced to share the tube with on a daily basis!
Had the wooden staircase always creaked like this? Elizabeth wondered in alarm as she began to
descend it. She hadn‟t noticed it before, but she did now, as every step she took seemed to make
the stairs groan in an alarming way that might alert the burglar to her presence before she was
ready to confront him!
„Damn and double damn!‟
The curse came from inside the kitchen even as Elizabeth crept stealthily down the hallway and
saw the door was slightly ajar, allowing her to look into the kitchen through the narrow crack
between the hinges of the door. She pressed herself urgently back against the wall as a darkclothed figure moved across the brightly lit room.
Of course the man was wearing dark clothing; didn‟t all burglars?
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, the shaking fingers of her left hand tightening about the brass
ornament even as she reached out with her right hand to push the kitchen door inwards. She
stepped inside the room, her blue gaze intent as she quickly scanned the kitchen, looking for the
location of the intruder.
„Who the hell are you?‟
Elizabeth was so shocked to hear the harsh but melodic voice coming from behind her that as she
turned the brass ornament slipped from between her fingers.
„Ow!‟
Straight onto the burglar‟s foot, she realised, as the man turned his back on her to bend down and
grasp the top of his boot, where the heavy ornament had obviously landed, with painful results,
before dropping to the tiled floor and rolling well out of Elizabeth‟s reach.
She looked around for another weapon to defend herself with, and very quickly realised that the
burglar stood between her and that block of sharp knives.
The book she had been reading! Elizabeth had forgotten it was still tucked under her arm, but she
grabbed it now and proceeded to hit the man repeatedly over the head with it.
„What the—!‟ The man straightened and turned, before reaching out to grasp both of Elizabeth‟s
wrists and hold her hands up and away from him, well out of hitting distance. „Will you stop
attacking me, woman?‟ he growled.
Elizabeth became very still, eyes wide as she stared up at him.
It was the man from the book she had been reading!
The same narrowed and glittering black eyes. The same shoulder-length, silky dark hair. The
same harshly sculptured face; prominent cheekbones, a hard slash of a nose, chiselled lips set in
a grim line, and a square, determined jaw. The same very tall and lithely muscled body,
completely dressed in black…
The same predator?
For the first time in her life Elizabeth fainted…
„Well, that was certainly different!‟ Rogan drawled derisively, as the woman he had picked up in
his arms and then carried to the sitting-room sofa finally began to stir and regain consciousness.
She was a tiny woman, probably aged in her late twenties, and a whole foot shorter than him at
only a couple of inches over five feet. She had short, auburn spiky-styled hair, a creamy, heartshaped face; delicate cheekbones, a short, straight nose, a full bow of a mouth, and a small
pointed chin that could be raised determinedly if she felt so inclined. As it had been earlier, when
she‟d attacked him—first with a brass ornament and then with a book, of all things!
Her eyes, as they opened, were a deep sky-blue, and surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes
Rogan had ever seen, he discovered as she sat up abruptly on the sofa to look across at him with
the apprehension of a startled deer.
„Why are you still here?‟ she breathed warily.
„Why am I still here?‟ he repeated incredulously.
The woman moistened dry lips. „You had plenty of time to get away when I—when I…‟
„Swooned?‟ Rogan suggested mockingly.
„Fainted!‟A dark frown appeared between those blue eyes. „A perfectly normal reaction to being
attacked by a burglar!‟
Yes, that chin could definitely be very determined when this woman wished it to be! The
bristling stance of that slender body beneath her slightly over-large cotton pyjamas also attested
to her indignation.
Rogan had never particularly cared for the idea of women wearing pyjamas, preferring the
woman in his bed to wear either nothing at all or something feminine in silk. Except this woman
somehow managed to wear unflattering blue cotton pyjamas and still look sexy!
Maybe it was the way the material only hinted at the curves beneath? Or could it be that the pale
blue material made her eyes look bigger and bluer? Whatever it was, his little attacker was one
very sexy package.
So what she was doing at Sullivan House?
His mouth tightened slightly. „Perfectly natural,‟ he acknowledged. „Except for two things.
Firstly,‟ he bit out harshly as she raised questioning brows, „I‟m not a burglar. Secondly,‟ he
continued, when she would have interrupted him, „you were the one doing the attacking. As
evidenced by my bruised foot and battered head!‟
Elizabeth felt the warm colour in her cheeks. She had attacked him. Firstly by dropping the
ornament on his foot, and then by hitting him with the book.
The same book that now lay open across one muscled, denim-clad thigh! As if he had been
reading it while waiting for Elizabeth to regain consciousness. Oh, good grief…!
Her chin rose defensively. „I very much doubt that the police will be too interested in my efforts
to defend myself considering that you‟re the one who broke in!‟
„I wouldn‟t be too sure about that,‟ the man taunted. „I‟ve seen several cases in the English
newspapers recently where the burglar was given compensation for being attacked by the owner
of the house he had just broken into.‟
Elizabeth had seen the same newspaper reports—and she questioned the sanity of the legal
system!
„There‟s also the fact,‟ the man continued relentlessly, „that I didn‟t break in.‟
„You—‟
„I unlocked the door into the kitchen by using the key from under the third flowerpot to the left
on the windowsill outside,‟ he explained.
What key under the third flowerpot to the left on the windowsill outside? More to the point, how
had this man known there was a key under that particular flowerpot in the first place?
„Have you been watching the house?‟ she gasped accusingly.
„Casing the joint, you mean?‟ he said scathingly.
„Yes!‟ Elizabeth glared at him indignantly, hating even the thought of someone—this man!—
watching the recent daily comings and goings of the members of the household before
attempting to break in.
„Interesting thought.‟ He nodded. „This house is certainly remote enough; there isn‟t another
house for miles. The spare key was conveniently left under a plant pot outside. No dog to bark at
unusual noises in the night. In fact, no real security to talk of. At least none that‟s actually active
at the moment.‟
„How do you know that?‟ Elizabeth screeched. Not even the movement-sensor alarm in the
house had been put on at night since Brad Sullivan had been rushed to hospital a week ago, as
neither Mrs Baines nor Elizabeth knew how to set it.
„No flashing red light on the sensor.‟ He gave a pointed look at the monitor near the ceiling in
the corner of the sitting room. „Burglars have to be a bit more high-tech these days.‟ He shrugged
dismissive shoulders beneath a thin black sweater.
Elizabeth‟s mouth tightened. „Are you going to leave quietly and empty handed? Or do you
intend to wait until the police arrive? I called them before coming downstairs,‟ she added
defiantly as he raised dark, questioning brows.
„Did you?‟
„Yes!‟
She was a plucky little thing; Rogan would give her that. She showed a lot of courage in the face
of adversity. Although he very much doubted that a real burglar would have stopped to chat like
this, let alone bothered to carry a woman to the sitting room after she had fainted!
He gave her a considering look. „Did you know that when you lie you tend to bunch your left
hand into a fist?‟
„I do no—‟ She broke off her protest to stare down at her clenched fist, carefully unclenching it
before adding, „I did call the police, and they will be arriving any minute!‟
Rogan relaxed back in his chair to place the ankle of one booted foot on top of his other blackdenim-covered knee with a distinct lack of concern. „That‟s going to be rather embarrassing for
you,‟ he drawled ruefully.
Her eyes widened. „For me?‟ she said. „You‟re the one who broke in—‟
„I used a key, remember?‟
„Only because you knew it was under the plant pot!‟ she accused.
Rogan chuckled softly at her obvious indignation. „Perhaps you ought to consider another reason
than my having “cased the joint” to explain how I knew the key was there? It might also be an
idea, when you go to bed at night, to read something a little less…‟ he picked up the book and
read the first paragraph „…graphic, is probably the most polite description I can come up with!‟
He read the next paragraph. And the next. „I had no idea that books about vampires could be
so—‟
„Give me that!‟ The fiery little redhead almost flew across the room to snatch the book out of his
hand and thrust it behind her back, before glaring down at him. „Are you going to leave now or
not?‟
Rogan mildly returned that fierce gaze. „Not.‟
She frowned her consternation at his reply. „Surely you don‟t want to be arrested?‟
He gave another shrug. „That isn‟t going to happen any time soon.‟
„When the police get here—‟
„If the police get here,‟ he corrected pointedly, before continuing softly, „I assure you they aren‟t
going to arrest me.‟
Elizabeth stared down at him in frustration, totally at a loss to know what to do or say next now
that this man—no, this burglar!—actually refused to leave the house before the police got here.
The fact that she‟d had no telephone upstairs with which to call the police was irrelevant; he
should have made good his escape long ago!
For the first time she noticed the blood-soaked paper towel wrapped about the palm of one long
hard hand. „How did you cut your hand if you didn‟t break a window to get in?‟ she pounced
triumphantly.
He glanced down at his hand before looking back up at her. „I dropped the damned milk bottle
when I was getting it out of the fridge.‟ He scowled darkly. „A piece of the glass pierced my
hand when I got down on the floor to mop up the mess.‟
That explained the crash Elizabeth had heard earlier.
Although not the reason this man had been taking a milk bottle from the fridge in the first
place…
„You don‟t seriously expect me, or the police, to believe that explanation, do you?‟ she scorned.
Rogan had been travelling for hours. Fraught, tense hours, during which he hadn‟t been able to
sleep. Consequently he was tired and still thirsty, and, amusing as this woman undoubtedly was,
he was tired of answering her questions. Especially when for him there was still the more
obvious question to be answered of what she was doing at Sullivan House at all!
He stood up, his expression becoming impatient as the redhead immediately took a step away
from him. „I would really rather drink a cup of the tea I was making earlier than your blood!‟
„You were in the kitchen making a cup of tea?‟ she echoed incredulously.
Rogan raised dark brows. „So?‟
„So I don‟t—For your information, I read those sort of books purely for escapism!‟ she snapped
defensively, as his earlier remark about not wanting to drink her blood suddenly registered with
her.
Rogan smiled slightly. „From the little I just read, I should think they might give you sexual
inspiration, too!‟
Her cheeks coloured bright red at his obvious mockery. „Who are you?‟
„Ah, at last a sensible question,‟ he murmured appreciatively, before turning to stroll from the
room and return down the hallway to the kitchen, to lift the teapot and pour himself a cup of the
dark liquid that was no doubt completely stewed by now.
So much for his intention of drinking a leisurely cup of tea before going upstairs and grabbing a
decent night‟s sleep!
„Well?‟ The little firebrand had followed him to the kitchen and was now standing challengingly
in the doorway.
Rogan took a sip of the tea before attempting to answer her. As he had suspected, it was slightly
bitter. „Well, what?‟ he snapped as he turned to refill the kettle before switching it on.
„Who are you?‟ she repeated forcefully.
His mouth twisted derisively. „Obviously not a burglar!‟
Elizabeth was very quickly coming to appreciate that fact. This man might look like every
forbidden fantasy she had ever had, but a burglar wouldn‟t have stopped in the kitchen to make
himself a cup of tea before stealing all the valuables! Or cleaned up the mess when a bottle of
milk fell and smashed on the floor. Neither would he bother lifting a fainting female from that
same floor in order to carry her to a comfortable sofa. And he certainly wouldn‟t enter into
conversation about the book Elizabeth had been reading before she went to sleep…
How embarrassing was it that this man—a man whose every movement was as smoothly lethal
as the predator hero in her book—had discovered her weakness for sexy vampire stories?
It wasn‟t just embarrassing—it was mortifying!
„Are you a relative of Mrs Baines?‟ Although what a relative of the housekeeper would be doing
in the main house was beyond Elizabeth.
The intruder obviously thought the same thing, as he gave her a mocking glance before replying,
„Nope.‟
„Are you going to tell me who you are, or—?‟
„Or what?‟ He leant back against one of the work-units, arms folded across the broad width of
that seriously muscled chest, those dark eyes narrowed on her ominously. „I think a more
interesting question to answer might be who are you?‟ he grated. „More to the point, what the
hell are you doing in Brad Sullivan‟s house?‟
Elizabeth, momentarily mesmerised by the ripple of muscle clearly shown beneath the man‟s
tight black sweater, now recoiled as she heard the anger in his voice. „I work here.‟
„As what?‟
Elizabeth wasn‟t sure she particularly cared for the insult that she detected in his tone. „Not that
it‟s any of your business, but my name is Elizabeth Brown, and I‟ve been staying at Sullivan
House so that I might catalogue Mr Sullivan‟s extensive library for him.‟
„You‟re Dr E. Brown?‟ The man straightened, his dark gaze incredulous as it ran over Elizabeth
from her head to her toes.
„That‟s correct, yes,‟ she confirmed guardedly, wondering why her name should mean anything
to him. At the same time she felt incredibly warm under the intensity of his dark gaze.
„Dr Elizabeth Brown?‟
She swallowed hard. „Well…yes. It‟s an academic title rather than a medical one.‟ Why was she
explaining herself to this man? What was it about him that compelled her to answer him? That
made the very air about him seem to crackle with the force of his will?
„And here I was, expecting the good doctor to be a man,‟ the burglar-who-wasn‟t-a-burglar
murmured, with a self-derisive shake of his head. „Would that be the same Dr E. Brown who, a
week ago, sent a next-day delivery letter to one Rogan Sullivan, at a PO Box in New York, to
inform him that his father had suffered a heart attack and was seriously ill in hospital?‟
Elizabeth gaped at him. There was no other word to describe it.
Dr Elizabeth Brown, respected university lecturer, most definitely gaped!
Surely the only way that this tall, dark and magnetically handsome man could know about that
urgently sent letter would be if he was Rogan Sullivan himself?
The son of Brad Sullivan, who, as Mrs Baines had informed Elizabeth, hadn‟t been back to the
family home in Cornwall for over fifteen years!
Chapter Two
„TEA…?‟ Rogan prompted mockingly as Elizabeth Brown—Dr Elizabeth Brown—moved
dazedly across the kitchen to sit down on one of the breakfast stools, even while she continued to
stare at him with a frown on her face.
She probably had to sit down before she fell down, Rogan acknowledged ruefully. No doubt it
had been unnerving earlier, for this woman to suddenly hear someone banging and crashing
about the kitchen and believing it to be a burglar. Only to now discover it was Brad Sullivan‟s
long-lost son come to visit. A very short visit, if Rogan had his way.
„Tea would be…lovely,‟ she accepted. „Um…Did you also receive the second letter I sent you?‟
„Nope,‟ Rogan said shortly.
„Oh.‟
Rogan‟s mouth twisted as he took pity on her dismayed expression. „I know my father died,
Elizabeth.‟
How could Elizabeth have missed the fact that this man talked with an American accent?
Probably because she had been too captivated by those deep and melodious tones to notice!
If she hadn‟t been so mesmerised then she might have added two and two together and realised
this man was probably related to Brad Sullivan. That he was, in fact, Brad Sullivan‟s son…
„Don‟t look for any physical resemblance between Brad and me,‟ Rogan Sullivan rasped harshly,
the bitterness of his tone unmistakable. „Or any other resemblance, for that matter. There isn‟t
one, thank God!‟
„I was just thinking what a pity it was that you had to learn of your father‟s death from a hospital
official,‟ she said defensively.
He grimaced. „I haven‟t been to the hospital. I did call, but they refused to give out any
information on Brad‟s condition over the telephone. Luckily his lawyer was more forthcoming,‟
he added. „About Brad‟s death and the instructions he gave him to arrange the funeral.‟
Elizabeth gave a pained wince at this reminder that the funeral was arranged for three days‟ time.
„I‟m really sorry your father died before you were able to get here.‟
„Are you?‟
„Of course.‟ She frowned at his sceptical tone.
„From what I can gather from his lawyer, Brad knew exactly how ill he was, and had been living
on borrowed time for some years,‟ Rogan Sullivan revealed.
Borrowed time that Brad Sullivan had obviously chosen not to inform his only son about…
An only son who, Elizabeth now realised, was looking at her with far too much familiarity. That
warm chocolate gaze moved slowly over her pyjama-clad body, pausing on the firm thrust of her
breasts against the thin cotton material.
Elizabeth moved uncomfortably as she felt that gaze like a lick of heat across her skin. „Would
you excuse me for a few moments? If we‟re going to continue this conversation I would like to
go upstairs and collect a robe,‟ she added pointedly, as Rogan Sullivan raised questioning brows.
„Oh, we‟re going to continue it,‟ he confirmed. „And isn‟t it a little late for modesty?‟
Elizabeth‟s cheeks coloured warmly as she stood up, thinking of being carried in this man‟s
strong arms wearing nothing more than a pair of thin cotton pyjamas…„Nevertheless, I believe I
would feel more comfortable in my robe,‟ she said firmly.
„Fine,‟ Rogan accepted uninterestedly and he turned away, pretty sure that the good doctor was
going upstairs in order to regroup as much as anything else.
She certainly looked more comfortable when she returned a few minutes later, wearing a
serviceable blue and white striped robe tied neatly at the waist over those cotton pyjamas.
Obviously Dr E. Brown was an altogether no-nonsense sort of woman. Not his father‟s type, he
would have thought…
Rogan placed two fresh mugs of tea down forcefully onto the breakfast bar, before sitting on the
stool opposite Elizabeth Brown‟s to regard her with narrowed, assessing eyes.
She straightened, obviously extremely uncomfortable. „I thought that you might have telephoned
once you had received my letter…‟
He gave a humourless smile. „Your very businesslike letter, informing me that “Mr Sullivan has
suffered a heart attack”?‟ Rogan already regretted the impulse that had made him jump on a
plane and fly to England, even though he had already known his father was dead, without having
the prim Dr Elizabeth Brown pointing out the futility of his actions!
Had her letter had been businesslike? Elizabeth worried. Perhaps, she acknowledged with an
inner grimace. But she hadn‟t known Brad Sullivan very well, and knew his son not at all, and,
considering the obvious lack of warmth in their relationship, she had found it a very difficult
letter to write. She could maybe have signed it with something a little less formal than „Dr E.
Brown‟, though…
Elizabeth had suggested that it might be better if Mrs Baines wrote the letter to Rogan Sullivan,
but, faced with the housekeeper‟s almost hysterical distress after Brad‟s initial collapse,
Elizabeth hadn‟t liked to press the point.
„I‟m sorry if you found my letter a little—formal.‟ She picked up the mug of tea and took a
reviving sip, some of the colour returning to her cheeks. „Although it may have been more
convenient if you had telephoned Mrs Baines to let her know of your imminent arrival. There
have been several burglaries in the area recently, and if we had been expecting you I wouldn‟t
have attacked you!‟ she added, slightly accusingly.
Elizabeth Brown was now embarrassed by her earlier behaviour, Rogan guessed easily. Not that
she had any reason to be. His decision to come to England, after talking to his father‟s lawyer,
had been a purely gut reaction. A need to see for himself that his father really was dead.
Consequently, Rogan hadn‟t thought to let anyone know of his arrival. Mrs Baines would have
recognised him instantly, of course, despite the fact that he hadn‟t so much as been back to
Sullivan House once for the last fifteen years, but there was no reason why Elizabeth Brown
should have done so.
All the same, that embarrassed colour in the good doctor‟s cheeks was rather attractive, making
her eyes appear a deeper, more sparkling blue. Embarrassment, no doubt, at having made such a
monumental error as to accuse the son of the house of being a burglar!
Well, she needn‟t worry on that score. Rogan hadn‟t considered himself as the son of the house
for years. The ten years he had spent in the American army had given him a new family. One he
could depend on a damn sight more than the one he had been born into!
He gave a dismissive shrug. „Forget it. It isn‟t important.‟
Maybe not to him, Elizabeth accepted. But if she had known of Rogan‟s imminent arrival it
might have saved her from embarrassing herself in that ridiculous way. And there was no way
she could forget she had attacked him with a book, of all things. The brass ornament dropping on
his foot had probably left a bruise too, despite the heavy black boots he was wearing.
Elizabeth looked across at him with new, assessing eyes. Rogan had been right when he‟d
claimed he bore no resemblance to his father, in looks or nature.
Brad Sullivan‟s hair had been blond and thinning, his eyes a steely blue, and although he might
once have been as tall and muscular as his son, the older man had been painfully thin and slightly
stooped before his death. Not even the facial bone structure was the same: Brad‟s face had been
more rounded, where Rogan Sullivan‟s was all harshly sculptured angles.
All harshly sculptured extremely handsome angles…
Rogan Sullivan really did resemble those darkly dangerous and sexy heroes who so often
appeared in the vampire and demon books Elizabeth read for relaxation after spending her days
and evenings totally immersed in teaching history to university students. No excuse, she
admitted, but she enjoyed reading those types of books because of their complete escapism. She
certainly hadn‟t appreciated having this man taunt her about them!
This man who had so far shown remarkably little emotion over his father‟s recent death…
Mrs Baines had briefly explained the situation between father and son to her; Brad and Rogan
Sullivan had argued after the death of Rogan‟s mother, Brad‟s wife, Maggie, fifteen years ago,
when Rogan had been aged only eighteen. Rogan had apparently left home shortly after that, and
the next time his father had heard from him it had been to learn he had returned to his native
America and joined the army.
Not that Elizabeth had needed to be told that the relationship was a strained one after learning
that Brad‟s only way of contacting his only child was through a post office box in New York!
„Don‟t presume to make judgements based on things you can‟t possibly understand,‟ Rogan
advised as he saw the emotions flickering across Elizabeth Brown‟s expressive face: curiosity,
quickly followed by a faintly disapproving curl of that sensually fuller top lip.
She arched auburn brows. „I wasn‟t aware I was doing so.‟
„No?‟
„No.‟ She frowned her irritation with the challenge.
Rogan gave a humourless smile. „You were sitting there thinking that I don‟t seem very upset for
someone whose father has just died!‟
That was exactly what Elizabeth had been thinking!
But perhaps she was misjudging Rogan? After all, she had no idea why father and son had
argued only months after the death of Rogan‟s mother, followed by long years of estrangement.
For all she knew Brad could have been a terrible husband and father.
Much like her own…
Except it was all too easy, now that the politely charming Brad was dead, to blame the mocking
and seemingly uncaring Rogan Sullivan for the strained relationship that had existed between
father and son.
„So, what are you doing here?‟ Those dark eyes were hard as onyx as Rogan Sullivan looked
across at her in an uncomfortably assessing manner.
Elizabeth frowned. „I believe I already told you. I‟m here to catalogue your father‟s library.‟
„You said that, yeah…‟he drawled. „I meant what are you still doing here now that he‟s dead?‟
„I didn‟t know what else to do,‟ Elizabeth admitted ruefully.„Your father engaged my services
for six weeks, and…‟ She shook her head. „I didn‟t know what else to do,‟ she repeated lamely.
Those chiselled lips curled disdainfully. „Do a lot of cataloguing, do you?‟
„During the summer holidays, yes. Exactly what are you implying, Mr Sullivan?‟ Elizabeth
demanded indignantly, as she saw speculation in those mocking eyes.
He shrugged. „That maybe physical over-exertion could be the reason my father had a heart
attack a week ago?‟
Elizabeth gasped. „Are you implying that I had a—a personal relationship with your father?‟
„You tell me,‟ Rogan taunted; this woman really was very beautiful when she lost her temper!
Her eyes glittered deeply blue, and there was heated colour in her cheeks. The fullness of her lips
was set determinedly, her pointed chin was raised challengingly, and the spiky style of that red
hair gave the overall impression of an indignant hedgehog!
„The library was here when we moved to England twenty years ago and my father bought this
house; I don‟t recall him even considering having it catalogued before,‟ Rogan goaded
deliberately.
A nerve pulsed in her stubbornly set jaw. „And how would you know what your father may or
may not have considered doing when the only contact you‟ve had with him, for the last five
years at least, has been through a PO Box?‟
Rogan narrowed his eyes menacingly. „I warned you not to speculate about things you don‟t
understand, Liza.‟
That angry colour drained as quickly from her cheeks as it had appeared. „I prefer to be called
Elizabeth or Dr Brown!‟ she bit out stiltedly.
Rogan eyed her consideringly. Obviously he had hit on a raw nerve of some kind by the
shortening of her name. „Okay, so don‟t speculate about things you don‟t
understand…Elizabeth,‟ he conceded dryly.
What Elizabeth didn‟t understand was why she was responding to this man‟s taunts and
insinuations at all!
As Dr Brown, highly qualified lecturer in history at one of the most prestigious universities in
the country, she was held in deep respect by students and faculty colleagues alike. As Elizabeth
Brown, a woman of considerable financial independence, she made a point of avoiding any and
all situations that might lead to emotional confrontation of any kind. Especially with a man
whose very presence unnerved her!
„Unlike you, I‟m not so hot on formality,‟ Rogan said. „My friends call me Rogue,‟ he explained,
and Elizabeth gave a confused frown.
Rogue?
How fitting a name was that for this dangerously disturbing man!
„How lucky for me, then, that I don‟t happen to be one of your friends,‟ Elizabeth answered
coolly. „I would prefer to use Mr Sullivan, or Rogan if you insist on informality.‟
„Oh, I do, Elizabeth, I most certainly do,‟ he murmured huskily.
She avoided meeting that warm and mocking dark gaze. „Perhaps we should resume this
conversation in the morning, Rogan? We don‟t seem to be achieving very much tonight.‟
„Except being rude to each other,‟ Rogan pointed out.
„Exactly.‟ She nodded briskly. „You are obviously tired after your journey—‟ She broke off as
Rogan gave a chuckle, a disconcerted frown on her brow as she looked across at him
questioningly. And she felt the lurch in her chest, the swelling of her breasts and tightening of
her nipples, at the way the amusement in his face made him appear even more dangerous…
Appear dangerous? This man was dangerous! And he induced an awareness in Elizabeth, a
physical arousal, that was totally alien to her.
„Nice cop-out, Elizabeth,‟ Rogan jeered, stretching wearily. „But I‟m afraid I‟m always this
outspoken—what‟s your excuse?‟
It took all of Elizabeth‟s will-power to drag her gaze away from the flexing of those muscles in
the broadness of Rogan Sullivan‟s shoulders. Even so, her nipples actually ached now, and there
was an unaccustomed warmth between her thighs…
Her mouth firmed and she straightened suddenly. „It‟s late, I was terrified out of my wits a short
time ago, and I‟m tired…‟
„Terrified out of your wits?‟ he echoed incredulously, that dark gaze once again compelling. „I‟d
hate to see what your response would be if you weren‟t so terrified!‟ He touched his temple
pointedly, a slight redness of the skin showing where Elizabeth had struck him with her book.
A book whose predatory hero was no doubt going to seem very one-dimensional after she had
come face to face with the very real—and very disturbing—flesh-and-blood man!
Elizabeth watched his long fingers as they ran lightly across his bruised flesh before pushing
back the long length of his dark hair in a movement that seemed habitual. That hair looked as
soft as silk. A silkiness Elizabeth longed to touch and thread her own fingers into before pulling
his head down and—
She gathered herself up. „No doubt you know which bedroom to use?‟ she bit out sharply.
„No doubt,‟ Rogan Sullivan drawled, those black eyes openly laughing at her.
Elizabeth had almost reached the kitchen door, almost made her dignified exit, and was
congratulating herself on how well she had regrouped after physically attacking Rogan Sullivan
in his own family home, when he made his own last mocking comment.
„Don‟t forget to get your book from the drawing room…‟
She faltered slightly, her eyes closing briefly in embarrassment at this second taunting reminder
of the book she had been reading earlier.
„The cover alone would be enough to shock Mrs Baines senseless, let alone its contents!‟ Rogan
Sullivan added.
Elizabeth drew in a deep, controlling breath before she turned to glare across the room at him. „I
should put something on that cut on your hand, if I were you. It would be such a pity if it were to
become infected. It might even result in lockjaw!‟ she added with saccharin sweetness.
„I can imagine how much that might bother you.‟ He gave an appreciative chuckle.
„You have no idea!‟ Elizabeth gave him one last scathing glance before sweeping out of the
kitchen. Well, sweeping as much as she could when she was wearing a pair of blue cotton
pyjamas and a striped bathrobe!
She paused long enough in the drawing room to take advantage of Rogan Sullivan‟s jeering
advice concerning taking her book back upstairs with her.
All the time she was aware that any dreams or erotic fantasies she might have tonight would all
be about a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dangerous man dressed completely in black.
A man known to his friends as Rogue…
„Mrs Baines seemed to be of the opinion that we would be eating breakfast together, and I didn‟t
like to disappoint her,‟ Rogan said the following morning, as Elizabeth came to an abrupt halt in
the doorway of the breakfast room the moment she saw he was already seated at the small table.
A slightly more officious-looking Elizabeth Brown than the night before; she wore a silky cream
blouse tucked into black tailored trousers, with flat court shoes. That red hair was as perky and
spiky as the previous evening, but she had added mascara to those already dark, sooty lashes, and
a deep peach gloss to the fullness of her lips.
Officious, but still beautiful, Rogan decided approvingly as he stood up to hold a chair for her to
sit down after she had reluctantly entered the room. „Just so that you know I do remember some
of the manners my mother taught me all those years ago,‟ he bent to murmur derisively beside
her left ear.
„I‟m pleased to hear it!‟ Elizabeth ignored his close proximity and picked up her napkin. She
placed it purposefully across her trouser-clad knees before continuing to ignore him as she
looked over the contents of the table.
All the time she was completely aware of how devastatingly male Rogan looked, with that long
dark hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing a black T-shirt that clearly defined his
muscled chest and arms, with black combat trousers sitting low down on the leanness of his
waist and emphasising the powerful length of his legs…
„Would you like me to pour you some coffee?‟ Rogan offered as he raised the cafetière
invitingly, and in the process once again stood just a little too close to Elizabeth for comfort.
The feral grin he gave as Elizabeth shot him a slightly nervous glance told her that he was totally
aware of the effect his close proximity was having on her equilibrium. That he‟d already noted
the flush in her cheeks, the way she couldn‟t seem to breathe properly, and the slight trembling
of her hands.
How could she not be affected? Elizabeth accepted ruefully. Men like Rogan Sullivan—hard,
tough, dangerous—were completely beyond her everyday acquaintance. The only males she
usually met on a day-to-day basis were either other academics or students much younger than
herself.
She occasionally accepted an innocuous luncheon or dinner invitation from one of her male
colleagues, but other than that Elizabeth preferred to keep her life uncomplicated by personal
relationships. She had certainly never met anyone even remotely like Rogan before!
But she certainly wasn‟t so disconcerted by all this blatantly displayed testosterone that she was
willing to forego her morning cup of coffee because of it! „Thank you,‟ she accepted, with a
dismissive glance in his direction.
Mistake!
As she had known she would, Elizabeth had dreamt about this man last night. Once she had
finally managed to fall asleep at all, that was. Intense, disturbing dreams that had included
fulfilling the fantasy she‟d had last night of running her fingers through that over-long dark hair,
before moving lower to caress the width of those muscled shoulders and down the hardness of
his back. In her dream she had also caressed other places she would really rather not think about
right now!
But the reality of the man was so much more disturbing than any dream. He simply oozed hard
masculinity from every pore in his muscled body, from that hewn and ruggedly handsome face to
the strength of his perfectly toned body. He even smelt male, his aftershave sharp and tangy,
with a hint of spice that tantalised the senses almost as much as the man did himself.
He knew it too, and was perfectly comfortable with all that blatant masculinity, Elizabeth
acknowledged slightly resentfully. „Are you expecting to suddenly have to go into combat here
in the wilds of Cornwall?‟ she taunted, with a scathing glance at the dark clothing and heavy
black boots he seemed to favour wearing.
He shrugged. „I just threw a few things into a holdall after receiving your letter. Besides, I find
it‟s always best to be prepared.‟ Rogan eyed her mockingly as he resumed his seat opposite her
at the intimately small table. „After all, one never knows when and where one might be
attacked!‟
Warm colour entered those slightly hollow cheeks at the deliberateness of Rogan‟s taunt. „Mrs
Baines mentioned you left the army five years ago?‟ She obviously chose to take his taunt at face
value.
„Yes,‟ he confirmed evenly.
„What career do you have now?‟
„I keep busy with this and that.‟
„What sort of this and that?‟
Rogan narrowed his gaze darkly. „You‟re very nosy for someone who supposedly only came
here to catalogue my father‟s library for him.‟
„There‟s no “supposedly” about it,‟ she assured primly. „I was merely attempting to make
conversation.‟
„Make it about something else,‟ he bit out curtly.
Rogan didn‟t discuss the work he did. With anyone. Least of all a woman he had only met eight
hours ago.
Although it was starting to seem much longer than that…
„If I‟m nosy, then you‟re completely lacking in manners!‟ She frowned at his rudeness.
Rogan gave an uninterested shrug. „What else did you expect from a man whose father‟s only
means of contacting him was through a PO Box!‟
A nerve pulsed in her cheek. „I wasn‟t meaning to be rude when I made that comment.‟
„Weren‟t you?‟ Rogan asked knowingly.
Okay, yes, she had been, Elizabeth accepted guiltily. Which was a little unfair of her when she
really knew nothing about their family situation. When this man‟s father had just died…
„What about you, Elizabeth?‟ Rogan Sullivan arched a dark brow in query. „What does Dr E.
Brown do when she isn‟t cataloguing someone‟s library?‟
„She teaches. History. At a London university,‟ she expanded as he seemed to be expecting
more.
„Wow.‟
„It‟s a subject I happen to love.‟ She bristled defensively at the obvious lack of enthusiasm in his
voice.
„You‟re comfortable with things that have already happened rather than those that haven‟t?‟
Elizabeth had never thought of it in that particular way before…„Is there something wrong with
that?‟ she asked.
A shrug stretched the black material of his T-shirt tighter across the wide width of his shoulders.
„Not at all. Except a life with no surprises must be…‟
„Comfortable?‟ Elizabeth supplied tersely.
„Boring,‟ Rogan Sullivan finished with an unrepentant grin, his teeth very white and even against
that lightly bronzed skin.
„That happens to be the way I prefer it.‟ She stood up abruptly. „With your permission, I think
I‟ll take my coffee with me into the library and get started on some work.‟
Dark brows rose teasingly. „With my permission?‟ he echoed.
It had occurred to Elizabeth shortly before she‟d fallen asleep the night before that with Brad
Sullivan‟s death, if she stayed on here as originally planned, she would now effectively be
working for Rogan…
She nodded tersely. „Unless you would prefer me to stop working on cataloguing the books?‟
„I—‟ Rogan‟s attention turned to the doorway as he saw Mrs Baines standing there hesitantly.
„I wondered if I could get either of you something hot for breakfast?‟ the elderly housekeeper
offered huskily, the strain of the last few days evident in the paleness of her cheeks and the slight
redness of her eyes.
„Elizabeth?‟ Rogan prompted crisply.
„Not for me, thanks.‟ She gave the older woman a regretful smile.
„Or me,‟ Rogan said. „We‟ll both be finished in here in a few minutes, if you want to clear away
then,‟ he assured Mrs Baines lightly, having only vague memories of the sixty-year-old widow
who had moved to Sullivan House with a sixteen-year-old son twenty years ago.
He leant back in his chair to look at Elizabeth with enigmatic dark eyes once they were alone
again, arms now folded across that wide, muscled chest. „So, have you found any priceless
treasures in the library yet?‟ he wanted to know.
„One or two, yes.‟ She nodded. „A first edition of Charles Darwin‟s Origin of the Species alone
is worth a considerable amount of money.‟
His brows rose. „How much money?‟
„Probably several hundred thousand pounds. And there are several others: a couple of Dickenses
and a Chaucer. They‟re also very collectible.‟
„I‟m really not that interested, Elizabeth,‟ Rogan rasped.
Her cheeks became flushed. „Then why bother to ask?‟
He gave a shrug. „It seemed like a good idea at the time.‟
„And is your interest usually this fleeting?‟
A slow smile curved those sculptured lips even as the dark eyes once again openly laughed at
her. „It depends what that interest happens to be…‟
There was no mistaking the deliberate innuendo in Rogan‟s tone. Nor Elizabeth‟s longing to
wipe that smile from his ruggedly handsome face!
What was it about Rogan Sullivan that brought out these uncharacteristic feelings of violence in
her? That caused her to be constantly antagonised by him?
The answer to that was easy! Everything about him made her feel defensive, while at the same
time making her feel vulnerable and very feminine in a way that was totally unfamiliar to her. As
well as uncomfortable…
Elizabeth Brown was defensive, nosy and confrontational, Rogan recognised as he continued to
look at her admiringly from between narrowed lids. An interesting combination for a university
lecturer in History who read steamy vampire novels when she was alone in bed at night and
didn‟t like surprises in her personal life.
Whereas Rogan was an adrenaline junkie who lived for the challenges in his own life, personal
and otherwise!
Elizabeth‟s mouth firmed. „Obviously your…interest doesn‟t lie in rare books.‟
„Obviously not,‟ Rogan agreed, inwardly starting to regret deliberately baiting her.
She had arrived two weeks ago to catalogue Brad‟s library—Rogan had checked that out with
Mrs Baines earlier—and, pleasurable as it might be, he shouldn‟t be taking out his present
frustration with the situation he found himself in on her.
Because his father‟s sudden death had completely removed any possibility of the two men ever
coming to any sort of understanding…
The two Sullivan men had never had the easiest of relationships. When the family had lived in
the States Brad had owned and run one of the most prestigious advertising companies in New
York, and his hours of work had been long and frantic. The family home had been in the
suburbs, often meaning that Brad had spent weekday nights at the apartment he‟d kept in the
city. Not much had changed after the family had moved to England twenty years ago, so his
father could open an office there. Brad had stayed in London during the week, only returning to
Sullivan House for the weekends.
Consequently Brad hadn‟t been around much, and had never attended any of the school events to
which parents were invited—meaning Rogan‟s mother, the Irish/American Maggie, had been the
one to attend rugby matches, sports days, and the school plays in which Rogan had appeared.
Maggie had always been the bridge between Rogan and Brad, and when she had died so
unexpectedly the two men had found they had absolutely nothing in common. Added to which,
Brad had been furious when Rogan had refused to take up his place at Oxford University and
instead returned to America and joined the army there.
Rogan straightened abruptly. „Continue to catalogue the library, by all means,‟ he said brusquely.
„Whoever inherits will no doubt consider selling them if some of the books are as valuable as
you say they are.‟
Elizabeth‟s eyes widened. „You aren‟t expecting that to be you?‟
Rogan Sullivan‟s laugh lacked all humour. „I have an appointment with Desmond Taylor, Brad‟s
lawyer, later this morning, so no doubt all will be revealed then. But I‟d think it doubtful,
wouldn‟t you?‟
Elizabeth no longer knew what to think. About this situation. Or, indeed, about Rogan
Sullivan…
Chapter Three
„THIS is very kind of you,‟ Rogan said as he sat beside Elizabeth as she drove her Mini Cooper
into town.
Elizabeth briefly turned her attention from driving along the narrow coast road to shoot him a
narrow-eyed glance.
Kindness on her part had nothing to do with the two of them being here together. How could it,
when Rogan had more or less commandeered both Elizabeth and her car so that he might keep
his appointment in town this morning with Desmond Taylor, his father‟s lawyer?
Having flown into England late the previous night, and feeling tired after a long flight, it
appeared that instead of hiring a car Rogan had simply got in a taxi and asked the driver to take
him to Sullivan House. Consequently, he had no transport of his own.
As Elizabeth now worked for him—for the moment at least—Rogan had very generously given
her permission to take a couple of hours off so that she could drive him into town!
„Don‟t push your luck,‟ she warned him tersely.
He arched dark brows. „Is that what I‟m doing?‟
„You know you are.‟ Elizabeth‟s only consolation in being coerced in this way was that her car
was obviously too small for a broadly muscled man of well over six feet in height. It was
extremely unlikely that Rogan was at all comfortable in the passenger seat! Although his close
proximity—those muscled arms and long, powerful legs were only inches from her own—was a
little disturbing, to say the least…
Rogan glanced out of the side window, down the cliffs to where the sea was currently lapping
gently onto the golden sand. „I‟d forgotten how ruggedly beautiful it is here…‟
„I expect it‟s a lot different from New York?‟
„Yes.‟ Except Rogan wasn‟t always in New York…
He didn‟t really live anywhere on a permanent basis, was never in one place long enough to put
down any roots. Anyone important who needed to get in contact with him urgently had his
private mobile number. Anyone else could use the PO Box.
Including his father.
Rogan had no idea yet how he felt about his father‟s death; he was still coming to terms with the
finality of it. Dealing with emotions had never been Rogan‟s strong point—especially when
those emotions were so ambivalent.
Although he sensed that Elizabeth Brown disapproved of his reticence on the subject.
Well, she would just have to go on disapproving!
Rogan would deal with his father‟s death in the same way he dealt with everything. Alone. He
had been alone for so long now that he simply didn‟t know how to be any other way. Didn‟t want
to know, either.
„I shouldn‟t be too long,‟ he told Elizabeth once she had parked the Mini and he could at last
uncurl his cramped body from inside the small confines of the car.
„Take your time,‟ she answered distractedly. „I have a little personal shopping to do anyway.‟
„Fine.‟ He nodded. „I suggest we meet back under the clock-tower here in the square in an hour
or so, and then find somewhere to have lunch.‟
„Lunch?‟ Elizabeth echoed sharply, and she straightened so suddenly from locking the car that
her head briefly swam.
„Lunch,‟ Rogan reiterated firmly. „We‟re in town anyway, and it‟ll be almost lunchtime, so why
not?‟
Why not? Because Elizabeth didn‟t want to have lunch with this compelling and disturbing man.
In fact, she was quickly coming to realise that she wanted as little to do with Rogan Sullivan as
humanly possible!
Not an easy thing to do when for the moment, they were actually staying in the same house…
„Okay, lunch in an hour,‟ she conceded.
„Or so,‟ Rogan added.
„Whatever.‟ Elizabeth gave him one last impatient glance before turning away to walk
determinedly towards the shops on the other side of the square.
„Just make sure he stays put,‟ Rogan snapped into his mobile as he strode restlessly up and down
in front of the clock-tower, waiting for Elizabeth to rejoin him so they could have lunch together.
„That‟s easier said than done, Rogue—‟
„Just do it!‟ Rogan growled, turning to pace back the other way and instantly finding himself
face to face with a pale and wide-eyed Elizabeth Brown. „Later, Ace,‟ he said curtly, before
ending the call and dropping his mobile into the back pocket of the black denims he had changed
into before coming out.
„I—Did your meeting go well?‟
Rogan gave a hard smile. „It would appear that I‟m my father‟s heir after all, if that‟s what
you‟re asking.‟
Colour heightened Elizabeth Brown‟s cheeks. „It wasn‟t.‟
„No?‟ he jeered.
„No.‟ She frowned. „It‟s really none of my business, is it?‟
„No, it isn‟t,‟ Rogan agreed. In truth, he was surprised—considering the state of their relationship
the last fifteen years—that his father had decided to leave everything to him after all. But maybe
Brad had considered a dogs‟ home—which had probably been his only alternative—slightly less
appealing than his own son! „Nevertheless, I‟m sure you have an opinion on the subject!‟
Elizabeth was having to force herself to concentrate on what Rogan was saying. Not easy after
overhearing his end of the telephone conversation with someone called Ace!
Just make sure he stays put…
She frowned as she remembered the implacable tone of voice he‟d used towards the other man.
Rogan was obviously not a man it would be wise to cross!
Or be attracted to…
Unfortunately, Elizabeth suspected it was already too late to warn herself off being attracted to
Rogan. Just looking at him sent shivers of awareness up and down her spine. That over-long dark
hair. Those dark and piercing eyes. The firm sensuality of his mouth. The lean sensitivity of his
hands. The leashed power in that perfectly muscled body…
„No doubt you have one of those perfect families?‟ Rogan Sullivan continued scathingly.
„Perfect mother. Perfect father. Perfect everything.‟
He had no idea! Elizabeth‟s family had to be even more dysfunctional than his own!
„Come on, Liza—‟
„I believe I told you I prefer to be called Elizabeth!‟ Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Her
father had always called her Liza, and she certainly wanted no reminders of him.
Rogan glanced at her, irritated with himself because of how attractive he found the way the
colour came and went in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkled with emotion when she was
angry or annoyed—
Whoa!
Elizabeth Brown wasn‟t his type. At all. Rogan preferred his women to be tall, soft and feminine.
Women who knew and accepted that a relationship with him had no future. He wanted nothing to
do with a woman who was short and prickly, a university lecturer immersed up to her pretty neck
in history, whose ideal was no doubt the house with the picket fence and two point four children!
All the same, Rogan couldn‟t stop himself from flirting with her just a little, to see how
uncomfortable—and beautiful—it made her. He deliberately took a step closer, crowding her.
„Liza is so much more—friendly, don‟t you think…?‟ he murmured huskily.
Those deep blue eyes narrowed to warning slits. „I have no wish to be friendly with a man who
can speak to people like you just did on your phone,‟ she said scornfully.
Rogan‟s eyes widened. So Dr Elizabeth Brown had overheard part of his conversation with Ace,
had she? And she‟d obviously drawn her own conclusions from it too. No doubt helped along by
an over-active imagination from reading too many vampire books!
Well, Rogan had ceased even trying to explain himself a long time ago—least of all to a woman
as unbending as this one. „What can I say?‟ He gave an unconcerned shrug. „Sometimes a little
aggression is necessary when people won‟t do as they‟re told the first time.‟
Elizabeth repressed a shudder of apprehension at the callousness of his tone. Her first impression
of this man last night had been the correct one after all; he really was dangerous!
„Don‟t look so worried, Elizabeth,‟ Rogan Sullivan murmured softly. „The only time I enjoy
hearing a woman scream is in bed…‟
The erotic images that statement instantly conjured into Elizabeth‟s head, of a lithe, bronzed and
naked body entwined with a much paler and softer one, caused the colour to once again burn
hotly in her cheeks.
She turned away. „Perhaps we should get back to Sullivan House after all.‟
„Running scared, Elizabeth?‟
„Of you?‟ Her eyes glittered as she glared at him. „I hardly think so!‟
„You could have fooled me!‟ Rogan gave her another one of those mocking smiles. „We‟re only
going to have lunch, Elizabeth, we‟re not going out on a date together.‟
She hadn‟t imagined for one moment that their lunch together could be called a date. It was just a
little disconcerting—more than a little, if she were brutally honest with herself—to think of
spending time alone in a restaurant with a man who was so blatantly, breathtakingly male that
just looking at him made even her teeth ache in awareness!
It was a raw attraction that was completely corroborated at that moment, as a woman passing by
on the pavement happened to glance casually their way—only for her attention to suddenly
become riveted on Rogan, a flush warming her cheeks as he shot her a lazy smile.
Rogan Sullivan wasn‟t just dangerous—he was utterly lethal!
Elizabeth scowled. „I‟m not hungry after all,‟ she snapped. „It must be all that aggressive talk
earlier on—you‟re nothing but a bully!‟ she added challengingly.
Rogan looked at her rigidly disapproving face and chose not to explain his firm orders to Ace
about making sure Ricky stayed put—after all, Ricky didn‟t know what was good for him.
„Hasn‟t affected my appetite,‟ Rogan assured her blithely, giving her no more opportunity to
disagree with him as he took a firm hold of her arm and strode forcefully towards the Bell and
Sceptre Hotel, across the other side of the square.
„So, what shall we talk about?‟ Elizabeth said dryly to Rogan once they were seated at a table in
the saloon bar of the hotel where he had decided they were having lunch.
He sat back against the bench seat, seemingly unaware of the interested female stares that had
been coming his way ever since he had gone up to the crowded bar to order their food.
Including Elizabeth‟s own more surreptitious glances!
Had she ever been this physically aware of a man before? Not that she could remember. But she
was so aware of Rogan, on so many levels, that she felt she could see and hear practically
nothing else but him. Her skin felt hotter than the temperature in the bar warranted. Her breasts
were swollen, the nipples slightly tingly, and there was a telling dampness between her thighs
that shocked her…
Ridiculous. From the little Elizabeth had overheard of his telephone conversation with someone
called Ace, Rogan Sullivan was little more than a thug. No doubt his years in the army, the
physical discipline he had learnt there, had made him as lethal as any of the weapons he had been
trained to use.
As a woman who had always valued intellect rather than muscle, how could Elizabeth possibly
find all that leashed physical power arousing? Except…she did! To such an extent that she could
imagine nothing more pleasurable than ripping all that black clothing from Rogan‟s bronzed and
muscular body so that she might caress every powerful, rugged inch of him.
In fact, just thinking about doing those things increased the temperature of her own body to an
almost unbearable degree!
Rogan gave a dismissive shrug. „Who says we have to talk at all? I came here for food, not
conversation.‟
Elizabeth frowned even as she sat back to allow the barmaid to place their plates of food on the
table. A young and pretty barmaid, who could no more take her eyes off Rogan Sullivan, as she
laid out their knives and forks, than the woman in the square had a few minutes ago.
„Thanks.‟ Rogan gave the young girl the same lazy grin that had so enthralled the woman in the
square earlier.
Elizabeth shot him a scathing glance as that grin once again caused a slightly flustered response,
but in the young barmaid this time. Really, this man ought to come with a „danger‟ label
attached!
„ What?‟he prompted irritably, once he and Elizabeth were alone again and he looked up to see
her disgusted expression.
Elizabeth gave a slight shake of her head. „Just deploring my own gender for their obvious
gullibility to a sexy smile!‟
He raised speculative brows. „You think I have a sexy smile?‟
She frowned her irritation. „I didn‟t say that—‟
„Yeah, you did.‟
Yes, she had, Elizabeth acknowledged with an inner groan. Damn the man! She sat forward to
pick up her knife and fork in preparation for eating the chicken salad that was looking less and
less appetising as this embarrassing conversation continued. „You probably practise in front of a
mirror for hours just to get that effect,‟ she said, in an effort to puncture his enormous ego.
Rogan gave an appreciative chuckle at her disgruntled accusation. „Not true. I had no idea my
smile was at all sexy until you said it was.‟
„Could we just eat?‟ Elizabeth snapped.
Rogan grinned unabashedly at her obvious discomfort. „If you think that you still can!‟
Blue eyes shot sparks at him. „You aren‟t my type, Mr Sullivan,‟ she said waspishly.
„Now, there‟s a challenge if ever I heard one…‟ Rogan mused.
Her eyes widened in alarm. „It certainly wasn‟t meant as one!‟
„Hmm…‟ Rogan speculated enigmatically, dark eyes narrowed. „So what is your usual type,
Elizabeth?‟ he asked, as he picked up his fork and began to eat the steak and ale pie he had
ordered for his own lunch.
She avoided that probing gaze. „I thought you preferred not to talk?‟
„I‟ve changed my mind.‟
„Unfortunately for you, so have I!‟
„Humour me, Elizabeth, hmm?‟ he encouraged softly.
Elizabeth didn‟t want to humour this man. In fact, she wished they had never started this
conversation! Especially as she did find his smile sexy—as did every other woman who so much
as looked at him!
Her chin rose defensively. „If you must know, I prefer brain over brawn.‟
He became very still. Watchfully, dangerously so. „You think I‟m just muscle and no brain?‟
„I didn‟t say that—‟
„As good as,‟ he bit out. „What constitutes an intelligent man to you, Elizabeth?‟
She grimaced. „I didn‟t mean to sound insulting—‟
„Oh, I think that you did,‟ Rogan grated harshly. „Does a first-class degree in Computer Science
and a doctorate in Computer Analysis pass as intelligent in your book?‟
Elizabeth swallowed hard. „I thought you had been in the army for most of the last fifteen years.‟
„Where, if you‟re so inclined, they teach you to use your brain as well as how to shoot guns!‟ he
assured her.
There was no mistaking the anger in Rogan‟s tone now. And rightly so. Somehow in the last
fifteen years this man had achieved a first-class degree and a doctorate, for goodness‟ sake.
Giving him the same right as Elizabeth to use the title of doctor if he so chose.
She gave an awkward grimace. „I apologise if I sounded rude. But—‟
„Let‟s just leave it at the apology, hmm, Elizabeth?‟ he advised in an off-hand manner. „Any
more insults from you and I‟m likely to lose my appetite!‟
Elizabeth already had lost her appetite. Completely. And it wasn‟t all due to the last verbal
exchange with Rogan. Some of it was due to the fascination of watching the lean strength of his
hands as he ate his meal with silent efficiency, as if he needed the fuel it would provide rather
than obtaining any real enjoyment from the food itself.
This was a man totally beyond Elizabeth‟s experience. An enigma, in fact. He looked rough,
tough and quite frankly dangerous. But his degree and doctorate also proclaimed him to be a man
of high intelligence. Something she should perhaps have realised before she insulted him…
She swallowed hard. „I really am sorry if I sounded less than polite just now, Mr Sullivan.‟
So he was back to being „Mr Sullivan‟, was he? Rogan mused cynically. „Don‟t give it another
thought, Elizabeth,‟ he replied. „You obviously can‟t help being insulting,‟ he added
challengingly.
Her cheeks coloured attractively, making her hair appear redder and spikier. „Now who‟s being
rude?‟
Rogan chuckled softly. „It must be catching! Most people consider me something of a pussycat,‟
he teased.
„The lethal type that stalks in a jungle, perhaps?‟ Elizabeth said dryly.
„Perhaps,‟ he dismissed evenly; until he‟d left the military five years ago, she would have been
closer than she realised!
„So,‟ she went on. „What is it you do, exactly, with your degree in Computer Science and your
doctorate in Computer Analysis?‟
„Analyse…?‟
She gave a pained frown. „I‟m trying to make polite conversation, Mr Sullivan; you might at
least try to reciprocate!‟
„Why?‟
„Because it‟s what people do!‟
„Is it?‟ Rogan murmured. „Perhaps if you were to start calling me Rogue instead of Mr Sullivan I
might feel more inclined to reciprocate?‟
She shifted uncomfortably. „I agreed to use the name Rogan.‟
„But not Rogue?‟ he taunted.
„No.‟ She grimaced.
„Fair enough.‟ Rogan leant back against the bench seat to look across at her through narrowed
lids. „You haven‟t eaten very much.‟ He frowned at her almost untouched plate.
„I told you, I‟m not hungry.‟ She gave up any pretence of eating and pushed her plate away. „I
forgot to ask earlier how your hand is today,‟ she added politely.
„Are you offering to kiss it better?‟ Rogan responded mockingly, after glancing down at the
already healing nick on the palm of his right hand. He had several scars on other parts of his
body that would no doubt make this self-contained woman scream in horror at the thought of the
violence behind them!
„I‟m not your mother, Rogan!‟ Her eyes flashed with temper.
A temper Rogan was pretty sure this controlled woman was usually at pains to conceal.
Interesting…„No, I can definitely vouch for that,‟ he said dryly; the primly correct Elizabeth
Brown was absolutely nothing like his gregarious Irish mother.
„Are you like her?‟ Elizabeth‟s curiosity had obviously got the better of her.
Rogan‟s mouth tightened. „In colouring, yes. But I don‟t have her tolerance for the weakness of
human nature. Or her belief in the ultimate good to be found in others,‟ Rogan added. „My father
was a prime example of that particular myth!‟
The frown deepened between Elizabeth‟s eyes. „I found him an easy man to work for and get
along with during the week I knew him…‟
„Next you‟ll be telling me he spoke lovingly of his wife and son!‟ Rogan said in disbelief. „When
in reality it must have been difficult to know Brad had even had a wife, let alone a son, when
there isn‟t a single family photograph in the house.‟
Elizabeth wasn‟t a woman for a lot of clutter herself, but even she had several photographs of her
mother on show in her apartment in London. Something that was definitely noticeably lacking at
Sullivan House…
„My father had all the photographs removed and put away after my mother died,‟ Rogan
explained grimly, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw.
Elizabeth‟s face softened in sympathy. „Perhaps it was just too painful for him to see reminders
of your mother around the house every day?‟
„Oh, yes, I‟m sure that must have been very painful,‟ Rogan bit out. „I‟m not sure I would want a
daily visual reminder of someone I‟d killed, either!‟
Someone he‟d killed?
Was Rogan really saying that Brad Sullivan had killed his wife?
Chapter Four
„YOU can‟t possibly believe that?‟ Elizabeth gasped incredulously, when she could finally speak
at all, her cheeks pale and her eyes wide as she stared across the width of the table at Rogan.
Not surprising, really, Rogan accepted grimly. It couldn‟t be every day she heard a man accuse
his own father of being responsible for killing his mother!
He stood up abruptly. „Let‟s get out of here,‟ he rasped.
Elizabeth Brown continued to stare at him as she rose unsteadily to her feet, belatedly turning
back to pick up her shoulder bag at she realised she had forgotten it in her obvious shock at his
statement.
„Rogan?‟ she prompted shakily once they were outside on the pavement.
Rogan‟s fingers curled about the top of her arm, his face stern as he walked across the square to
where Elizabeth had parked the car. „Brad wasn‟t standing behind my mother pushing her when
she fell off the cliff to her death,‟ he explained. „But the adulterous snake might just as well have
been!‟ he added coldly.
Elizabeth‟s head was buzzing with the things Rogan had just said about his parents. But not so
much that she wasn„t completely aware of the touch of those lean fingers wrapped strongly about
her upper arm…„I—I don‟t know what to say…‟
Rogan‟s mouth twisted derisively as he watched her fumbling in her shoulder bag for her car
keys. „That must make you unique amongst your sex!‟
Elizabeth was aware that Rogan was probably being flippant as a means of alleviating the
intensity of their conversation, but that didn‟t make his deliberate taunt any less insulting. „You
really are a male chauvinist, aren‟t you?‟ she muttered as she finally found her keys and
unlocked the doors.
Rogan quirked an eyebrow. „If I was a male chauvinist I wouldn‟t allow you to do the driving.‟
Elizabeth frowned at him over the top of her bottle-green Mini. „It‟s my car!‟
He gave an unconcerned shrug. „I believe chauvinists are only concerned with their own fragile
egos rather than ownership.‟ He opened the passenger door and climbed inside.
Leaving Elizabeth with no choice but to do the same. All the time aware that there was nothing
in the least fragile about this man‟s ego!
She gave Rogan another frowning glance before switching on the ignition and driving out of the
town square and on to the coast road that led back to Sullivan House.
The coast road consisted mainly of high cliffs that dropped down to the beach or the rocks
below. The same high cliffs from which Rogan‟s mother had fallen to her death…?
For some reason Elizabeth had thought that Maggie Sullivan‟s premature death had been from
some unnamed illness. To learn that she had actually fallen to her death from these high cliffs
because her husband had been an „adulterous snake‟ was more than disturbing in view of the
behaviour of Elizabeth‟s own father, and her mother„s response to it…
As a result of that, Elizabeth had deliberately kept her own adult life free of emotional
entanglements; she certainly didn‟t welcome anything that reminded her of the pain and
disillusionment that had been so much a part of her own childhood.
Perhaps it might be better if she postponed cataloguing the library at Sullivan House for now and
came back later in the summer, when things might be less emotionally fraught?
When Rogan had returned to New York and was no longer present at Sullivan House to disturb
her, for instance…
And she was once again disturbed—by his close proximity in the confines of her car!
Barely leashed power oozed from every pore of Rogan‟s muscular body, sending out a purely
physical challenge that heightened Elizabeth‟s senses, both sight and smell. Her fingers tightened
about the steering wheel as she resisted the urge to reach out and touch the lean strength of his
hands where they lay clenched on his powerful thighs.
She‟d never reacted to a man in this way. At least…she never had until Rogan Sullivan‟s sudden
appearance at Sullivan House last night. Since then her nerve-endings—and every other part of
her!—had been on constant alert.
„What are you thinking about?‟ he suddenly wanted to know.
Elizabeth‟s fingers gripped the steering wheel even tighter. „I was simply wondering if your long
hair is a reaction to being in the army for so many years, or if you‟ve just forgotten to go to a
barber recently.‟
„Liar,‟ Rogan murmured huskily, well aware that Elizabeth had been shooting him surreptitious
glances from beneath those sooty lashes for the last few minutes. And he was experienced
enough to know that Elizabeth Brown was aroused by what she saw when she looked at him.
Her eyes were fever-bright. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing was soft and uneven. Also,
her breasts were full, with the nipples showing hard and aroused against the soft material of her
blouse.
Every starchy inch of Elizabeth Brown was aware of him, and he found that knowledge
delicious!
She bristled at the accusation. „I—‟
„You‟re clenching your left hand again, Elizabeth,‟ he warned softly.
She frowned at the observation, but instantly lessened the tightness of the grip she had on the
steering wheel. „You—‟
„Admit it, Liza.‟ He deliberately gave her that sexy smile as he used the name he knew she
objected to so strongly. „When you look at me, you like what you see!‟
Her jaw tightened disapprovingly, although the blush in her cheeks and the catching of her breath
in her throat told a completely different story…„I told you not to call me—‟
„I like calling you Liza.‟ Rogan turned in his seat so that he could look at her fully. „With your
eyes shining brightly, and that colour in your cheeks, you‟re much more of a Liza than you are a
stiff and unapproachable Elizabeth,‟ he said appreciatively.
„Stiff and—!‟ She gave an impatient shake of her head. „Are you deliberately trying to annoy
me?‟
He quirked dark brows. „Am I succeeding?‟
„Very much so!‟
He grinned unrepentantly. „Enough to make sure that you definitely decide to high-tail it out of
Sullivan House as soon as you can make the appropriate excuses?‟
That blush in her cheeks deepened as she gasped softly. „How did you know…?‟
„That‟s what you were thinking about doing a few minutes ago,‟ Rogan finished dryly. „You‟re
pretty easy to read, Elizabeth.‟ He gave an unconcerned shrug. Rogan hadn‟t just learned to
analyse computers over the last fifteen years; he had learned to read people too.
Although this woman was a little more complicated than most. No, make that a lot more
complicated!
Why did a beautiful woman in her late twenties bury herself in academia? To such an extent that
she even chose to occupy her vacation time buried in the wilds of Cornwall, cataloguing a
private library? Did she ever let anyone past that spiky exterior? Rogan wondered. More to the
point, had she ever let a man past that bristly exterior and into her body…?
Elizabeth wasn‟t sure she liked Rogan finding her „easy to read‟—especially considering some
of the thoughts she had been having about him since first setting eyes on him the previous night!
Her mouth firmed. „I have no intention of “high-tailing it out of Sullivan House”, as you put it.‟
Not any more, she didn‟t. Not when he seemed to have so easily guessed that he would be the
reason for her leaving! „Your father engaged me to catalogue his library, and if you still want me
to continue, then I will fulfil that obligation.‟
His mouth twisted. „Big on obligation, are you?‟
Elizabeth stiffened at the taunt she heard in his tone. „I believe that once given a person‟s word
should be honoured, yes.‟
Implying, Rogan would guess, that someone close to her—or someone she had allowed close to
her?—had once let her down pretty badly.
He nodded. „Are you hoping to find even more valuable first editions?‟
„It‟s possible, yes,‟ she acknowledged cautiously.
Rogan chuckled softly. „You don‟t have to be so cagey, Elizabeth, I‟m not about to steal any of
them and sell them off for a huge profit!‟
„It would hardly be stealing when the books appear to be yours now,‟ she reasoned.
„But you do think I‟m going to sell them off for profit at the first opportunity, don‟t you? Don‟t
bother to deny it, Elizabeth.‟ His tone was grim now, as he saw the truth of his accusation in her
face. „You‟re obviously as big on making assumptions about people as you are on honouring
your obligations!‟ he accused, with obvious disgust.
Was she? Elizabeth wondered. Perhaps. Where this particular man was concerned, anyway. He
seriously threatened her peace of mind…
„I—What are you doing in here?‟ Elizabeth came to a stop in the library doorway as she saw
Rogan, sitting behind his father‟s leather-topped mahogany desk, her laptop open in front of him.
He looked up to raise an unimpressed eyebrow. „As the new owner, don‟t you think I have a
perfect right to be in here?‟
Well…of course he had a right to enter his father‟s library. His library now. Elizabeth was just
surprised, having come to the library with the intention of working again this afternoon, once she
had been upstairs to freshen up after they‟d returned from town, to find Rogan had beaten her to
it.
She stood in front of the desk to arch her own auburn brows. „Find anything of interest on my
laptop?‟
Rogan sat back. „Your laptop?‟ he murmured slowly. „I thought it was my father‟s.‟
Elizabeth smiled at having at last been able to disconcert a man who was so self-confident he
made her want to scream. „I prefer to work with equipment I‟m familiar with.‟
There it was again, Rogan noted with a frown. Elizabeth Brown liked her life ordered and
predictable, even down to the laptop she used for whatever work she happened to be doing.
Rogan grimaced. „I had some e-mails I wanted to send.‟ Damn it, if he had known this was
Elizabeth‟s laptop he might have had a look through some of her other files. Just in the interest
of gaining further insight into what made her tick, of course. It was something Rogan was always
careful to do with the people that were around him on a day-to-day basis.
He already knew what Elizabeth did; it was the rest of the information on her that was still a little
sketchy. Where she came from. Who her family was. Who her friends were.
For different reasons, most probably, Elizabeth kept her personal life as close to her chest as
Rogan did his own…
„Sorry about that.‟ He shut the laptop down before standing up, his eyes narrowing at the
instinctive way Elizabeth instantly took a step away from him.
What the hell?
Was this woman scared of him?
No, that wasn‟t fear Rogan could see in her eyes, but something else. Something much more
interesting…
Elizabeth took another step back as Rogan moved out from behind the desk, once again finding
herself overwhelmed by the sheer animal magnetism of the man. He really was like that predator
she had been reading about last night, his movements slow and stealthy, soundless on the
carpeted floor. The muscles moved smoothly in his legs and beneath his tight-fitting T-shirt as he
came ever closer, the very air about him seeming to part in deference to all that rippling power.
Her eyes were wide with apprehension. „I—What are you doing?‟
He raised dark brows over those inky eyes. „What does it look like I‟m doing?‟ Even his voice
sounded lower, husky, purposeful…
Elizabeth swallowed hard. „I came in here to work—‟
„Later.‟
„Later?‟ she repeated, with a nervous sweep of her tongue across suddenly dry lips.
The blackness of Rogan‟s gaze locked on to that nervous movement. „Later,‟ he confirmed
gruffly.
He was standing so close to her now that Elizabeth could feel the heat of his body enveloping
her, and that heat and the subtle scent of him were acting like a drug on her already heightened
senses.
The same senses that had been on alert from the moment she first set eyes on this man.
Sight. Smell. Touch…
Elizabeth gave a shake of her head in an effort to clear her mind of the foggy haze that seemed to
be encompassing her. „I don‟t know what game you‟re playing, Rogan—‟
„I never play games, Liza,‟ he assured her softly.
He had called her by that hateful name again, but for the moment Elizabeth was too concerned
by the threat he represented to her, to her equilibrium, to bother correcting him. „You‟re playing
one right now. And it isn‟t funny,‟ she reproved.
Rogan didn‟t find this situation funny, either. In fact, he deeply regretted having started this, and
was no longer sure who was challenging whom.
Elizabeth‟s eyes were such a deep and drowning blue. Those sooty lashes a dark sweep against
the creaminess of her cheeks. Her mouth, those full and pouting lips that had just felt the moist
touch of her tongue, was tempting him to do the same. She smelled so damned good too: a
mixture of some elusive floral scent and a warm and sexy femininity…
Rogan gave a low groan in his throat as he felt his body respond to her, his thighs stirring,
hardening, pulsing.
Aching!
„Rogan…?‟
Even the way she spoke his name, so huskily, so warily, was arousing. Too much so for Rogan to
be able to resist tasting her. Just one taste, he promised himself. One taste of her lips, with the
feel of those slender curves pressed against his much harder ones, the crush of the softness of her
breasts against his chest, her thighs against his, and he would let her go.
Elizabeth barely had time to raise her hands, with the intention of warding Rogan off, before his
arms moved about her. He pulled her in tightly against the hardness of his body and his head
lowered so that his mouth could claim hers.
Fiercely. Hungrily. Crushing, parting her lips beneath his as he deepened the kiss. His tongue
surged past her lips and into the heated cavern of her mouth.
The hands she had raised to hold Rogan at bay instead clung to him. Her fingers curled into the
front of his T-shirt as she met and returned the intensity of that kiss. Those fingers tightened and
she held on to the black material for support as desire ripped shockingly through her body. She
could feel her breasts swelling, the nipples hard and aching, the warmth between her thighs
becoming a burning sensation as she felt herself becoming wet and swollen with a need she had
never known before.
She could feel the pulse of Rogan‟s arousal against the flatness of her stomach as he pressed her
even closer against him. Every long, thick, hard inch of him throbbed rhythmically against her,
in a promise that would ease the increasing ache between Elizabeth‟s own thighs as he surged
powerfully inside her.
Rogan knew he had to stop this. Now. Before things got completely out of control.
Except she tasted so good. Felt so good. The softness of her curves was a perfect fit against the
hardness of his.
All of her was perfect, Rogan discovered as he moved his hand beneath her blouse to touch the
silky heat of her bare flesh, caressing upwards, until his fingers curved about the soft, up-tilting
swell of her breast. Not too small. Not too large. Just a perfect fit in the palm of his hand.
His own body throbbed anew as Elizabeth gave a throaty groan and her head dropped back to
break the kiss. As Rogan moved the soft pad of his thumb against the puckered pout of her
nipple her breathing becoming laboured and ragged, and he kissed down the length of her
creamy throat to push aside the collar of her blouse so that his tongue and teeth could seek out
the hollows at the base of her neck.
She tasted better than anything Rogan had ever experienced before. The feel of her skin against
his lips was a beguiling combination of feminine softness and spice.
He could feel the heat of Elizabeth‟s arousal as she pressed her hips into his, sensed how ready
she was for him.
So ready Rogan wanted to lie her down on the carpeted floor and take her right here and now. To
thrust into her time and time again, until she screamed out his name as she climaxed, wildly,
fiercely, as spasm after spasm of pleasure wrapped itself around him and she took him over that
edge with her.
Rogan nudged her back towards the desk, feeling the added pressure of her body against his as
the wood pressed against the back of her legs. He pushed those legs apart to step in between
them, grinding his arousal against her tempting heat in an effort to relieve some of the fierceness
of his own need.
He succeeded only in increasing that need until he could only move rhythmically against her, the
barrier of their clothing no hindrance to the heat, the satisfaction he found between Elizabeth‟s
legs as he continued to surge against her. Again and again. Harder. Faster. Until Rogan felt he
would lose his mind if he didn‟t soon possess her for real!
This was insane, Elizabeth acknowledged achingly, as she felt the thick length of Rogan‟s shaft
pressed against the swollen nub between her legs, creating a fire deep inside her that quickly
spread and threatened to flame totally out of control.
She couldn‟t do this…
She wouldn‟t do this!
„No, Rogan!‟ she gasped, even as she pushed against the hardness of his chest. „No!‟ she cried
again, entangling her fingers in his over-long dark hair and pulling his head back and away from
her when her verbal protest had no effect on those questing, arousing lips. „No,‟ she said again
firmly, and she looked up appealingly into the unfocused darkness of his eyes.
Eyes as wild, dark, and dangerous as those of the lethal predator she had initially thought him to
be!
The very air between them seemed to crackle with tension, and Elizabeth could only wait tensely
to see if her pleas would have any effect. Because if they didn‟t then she knew she was seriously
in danger, crushed as she was between Rogan and the desk, every hard muscle and sinew of his
body imprinted upon her own. There was no way, absolutely no way, that she would be able to
physically fight off a man as large and fit as Rogan undoubtedly was. And at this moment,
breathing in his scent, still weak from the touch of his hands against the bareness of her flesh, she
wasn‟t sure that she really wanted to…
She continued to stare up at him for long, timeless seconds, not breathing, not moving, the palms
of her hands damp with tension, her legs trembling beneath her.
His jaw clenched even as the fierceness slowly left the dark unfathomable depths of his eyes. He
stepped abruptly away from her, the muscles still tense in his back as he turned away from her to
smooth the wildness of his hair back from his face and draw deep, controlling breaths into his
lungs.
Allowing Elizabeth to draw in a couple of much-needed breaths herself.
What on earth had happened just now? More to the point, how had it happened?
She rarely even dated, let alone allowed men to get close to her in this way. This totally physical
way!
She hadn‟t exactly allowed Rogan to get close to her; he had just taken the opportunity.
And she had responded…
Responded to that animal magnetism that drew her like a moth to a flame. To the hunger of his
lips on hers. To the caress of his hand against the bareness of her skin. To the fierceness of his
hard and demanding thighs pressed so intimately against hers…
Elizabeth felt another warm rush of heat between her legs just at remembering the hardness of
Rogan‟s thighs pressed against the throb of her own arousal. An arousal he had found with
unerring accuracy as he rubbed himself against her and took her ever higher, ever nearer to a
release she had never known.
She had wanted Rogan just now. Desperately. So much so that she wouldn‟t have been able to
stop him if he had chosen to continue kissing and touching her. If he had thrown off their clothes
before laying her back on the desk and satisfying their desire for one another.
Dear God…!
Chapter Five
ROGAN was still breathing raggedly as he turned back to face Elizabeth. „Well, that was—‟
„Stupid!‟ she supplied forcefully, her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightly accusing, her breasts
rapidly rising and falling beneath her blouse in her agitation.
His mouth compressed. „I was going to say unexpected…‟
This spiky woman—a lecturer in History who catalogued libraries in her spare time, for heaven‟s
sake!—simply wasn‟t his type. Absolutely not.
Except it had aroused Rogan just to be able to pierce through all that prim self-righteousness. To
see this obviously controlled woman totally come apart in his arms…
Rogan lived his life as he wanted. As he chose. And where he chose. With no involvements,
emotional or otherwise. That had worked for him for the past fifteen years, and he fully intended
for it to continue working for him for the foreseeable future.
Even if Elizabeth Brown had succeeded in getting to him, in breaching his guard, in a way
Rogan couldn‟t remember any other woman ever doing before…
His mouth thinned. „You‟re right, it was stupid,‟ he acknowledged harshly. „Let‟s just forg—‟
He broke off as his mobile began to vibrate against his hip. „Excuse me.‟ He took the mobile off
his belt to take the call—no doubt a telephoned answer to one of the e-mails he had just sent.
Elizabeth didn‟t know which of them she was most angry with. Herself for having responded to
Rogan in the way she had. Or Rogan for the way he had so readily agreed their behaviour had
been stupid.
The latter, probably…
„Tell her I‟ll call her when I have the time,‟ Rogan said decisively into his mobile, even as he
kept his coldly dark gaze fixed steadily on Elizabeth. „I don‟t give a damn what she wants,
Grant; you can tell her I‟ll call her when I‟m good and ready!‟
Her? Don‟t give a damn what she wants? I‟ll her call when I‟m good and ready…
Rogan couldn‟t have told Elizabeth any more clearly that there was already a woman in his life.
No doubt a woman who also lived in New York. A woman who had believed she could trust
Rogan to be apart from her for the few days he would be in England without the fear that he
would end up with another woman in his arms.
Another woman who had allowed Rogan to kiss and touch her in a way she had never been
kissed and touched before!
„What did I do wrong now?‟
Elizabeth had been so full of self-condemnation for her own gullibility that she hadn‟t even
realised Rogan had ended his call and was now studying her from between narrowed lids. „Who
said you had done anything wrong?‟ She glared at him.
He scowled. „Your disgusted expression said it for you.‟
Elizabeth scowled at him. „I can‟t imagine what makes you think that.‟
„Male intuition?‟
„Men don‟t have intuition!‟ she flashed back.
„Ah.‟ He grimaced. „You‟re one of those.‟
Her eyes widened. „I beg your pardon?‟
Rogan shrugged. „A man-hater.‟
Elizabeth felt heat in her cheeks at the taunt. „I don‟t hate men.‟
„Just me, hmm?‟ he said knowingly.
Elizabeth only wished that she did hate this man. But the truth was just being in the same room
with Rogan disturbed her more than any other man ever had. As for being kissed by him,
touched by him…!
„Not at all, Rogan,‟ she denied coolly. „But I had no sooner walked in here and found you using
my laptop than you began kissing me—which begs the question, how did you get past my
personal security code?‟ Elizabeth frowned as she suddenly realised access to her computer was
supposed to be protected by that code. Supposed to be. It obviously hadn‟t been enough to stop
Rogan from accessing it.
So much for Rogan‟s thinking that kissing Elizabeth might divert her attention away from the
fact that he had been using her laptop earlier!
„You really don‟t want to know.‟
Her stance became one of stubborn determination. „Oh, I really think I do.‟
Rogan smiled nastily. „I have a doctorate in Computer Analysis, remember.‟
Auburn brows rose challengingly. „And that allows you to violate another person‟s personal
laptop any time you feel like it?‟
It actually allowed Rogan to access almost any computer system anywhere in the world any time
he felt like it!
He grimaced. „More or less.‟
Elizabeth folded her arms in front of her chest. „How much more or less?‟
Elizabeth Brown was dogged as well as intelligent, Rogan acknowledged ruefully. „Give me a
computer, almost any computer, and I guarantee that in a matter of minutes I will have access to
all its stored information.‟ He gave an unapologetic smile.
„Isn‟t that illegal?‟
Rogan‟s smile widened into a hard grin. „Some might call it that, yes.‟
Her mouth thinned. „What do you call it?‟
„Useful.‟
Elizabeth gave a disgusted shake of her head at the complete lack of apology in his tone. „And
you don‟t see anything wrong in that?‟
Rogan made an impatient movement. „Why should I, if it gets the job done?‟
She became very still. „What sort of job could you possibly do that requires that you intrude on
information stored on other people‟s computers?‟
He snorted. „If I told you that I might have to kill you afterwards!‟
„Stop teasing me, Rogan.‟
„Who says I‟m teasing?‟ He quirked dark brows.
„I do.‟ Elizabeth glared at him.
„I‟m not in the habit of explaining myself or my actions to anyone, Elizabeth. And, where I come
from, sharing a few kisses with someone doesn‟t give them the right to question, or to poke and
prod into other parts of that person‟s life.‟
She drew her breath in sharply. „I wasn‟t—‟
„Oh, yes, you most certainly were,‟ he rasped. „And, enjoyable as those kisses were—and
probably would be again, given the opportunity—‟
„Which there won‟t be!‟
„I think you should know that I don‟t do permanent relationships!‟ Rogan concluded harshly, as
if she hadn‟t interrupted.
Elizabeth had never felt so uncomfortable and humiliated in the whole of her life!
Rogan couldn‟t have told her any more clearly not to read anything into the kisses they had just
shared. As if! Elizabeth was as anxious to forget them as he obviously was.
She gave him a scathing glance. „Well, that‟s just fine—because neither do I!‟
He looked at her speculatively. „Does that mean you do casual instead?‟
„It means that where you‟re concerned I don‟t do any sort of relationship whatsoever! We‟re
only here together at all because of circumstances.‟ And Elizabeth wished now that she hadn‟t
been goaded into staying on. „I suggest that for the rest of your time here we stay well out of
each other‟s way!‟
Rogan gave a terse inclination of his head. „I‟m glad we got that straightened out.‟
„So am I!‟ Elizabeth had never felt quite so much like hitting someone as she did Rogan at that
moment.
He gave a slow, taunting smile. „Does that mean you won‟t be joining me for dinner?‟
Dinner? Elizabeth was so angry—with herself as much as Rogan—that she wasn‟t sure she
would be able to eat anything for the rest of the day!
Her chin rose. „I‟ll be quite happy to have a tray in my room.‟
„That seems a little unfriendly, don‟t you think?‟
A frown appeared between her eyes. „I thought we had just agreed that neither of us does
friendly?‟
„Oh, I do friendly. Just not for ever.‟ Rogan regarded her mockingly. „Did you eat dinner on a
tray in your room when my father was here?‟
„No, of course not.‟
„Then you don‟t need to do it now, either,‟ he pointed out.
Need? What Elizabeth needed was some time—and space—away from Rogan Sullivan, in which
to regain some of her shattered composure. „I would like to get on with some work now, if you
don‟t mind.‟ She deliberately turned her back on him.
„No problem,‟ Rogan came back nonchalantly. „I‟ll see you at dinner.‟
Elizabeth continued to stand unmoving in the middle of the library long after she knew Rogan
had gone.
Rogan had kissed her, and she had kissed him back. Damn it, she hadn‟t just kissed him, she had
been hungry for him! Hadn‟t been able to get enough of him! To get close enough to him! Still
ached with wanting him…
He was everything she had ever fantasised about. Everything she had never thought to encounter
in her quite frankly boring academic life, she told herself wryly.
Maybe.
But for her to have totally lost all inhibition with a man she knew nothing about was seriously
worrying.
She knew Rogan had kissed her as if he‟d wanted to devour her. As if he‟d wanted to taste and
touch every part of her. As if he‟d wanted to bury himself deep inside her and—
She knew nothing positive about the man!
Rogan had arrived in the middle of the night. The only way of contacting him was through a PO
Box in New York. He had used her laptop, somehow bypassing the security code, without even
bothering to check who it belonged to. He had totally dismissed the need to contact his girlfriend.
Worst of all, he was mysterious about his past, and obviously had no intention of sharing any
important details about himself with her.
Elizabeth hadn‟t just been stupid when she had responded so wantonly to Rogan, she had
behaved totally recklessly. And reckless was something that she never was where a man was
concerned. Let alone a man who had so reminded her of her father, with his claim of wanting no
permanent ties in his life…
Leonard Brown. Handsome. Charming. Secretive. And totally immoral…
Leonard had been working for industrialist James Britten as one of the man‟s senior managers
when he had first seen Stella Britten. A tiny red-haired beauty of only twenty-one. Adored by her
father, and surrounded by dozens of young men who wished to capture her heart, Stella had
barely noticed thirty-year-old Leonard on the occasions when she visited her father at his office.
Then Stella‟s father had died unexpectedly, and suddenly Leonard was there, offering comfort, a
shoulder to cry on, someone to lean on. Offering to help her deal with everything that needed to
be dealt with now that her father was dead. James Britten had left no son to inherit. Only Stella,
his beautiful, oh-so-grateful and very quickly so-much-in-love-with-Leonard and pregnant
daughter.
The two had been married within six months of James Britten‟s dying, and, although the
company had had to remain in Stella‟s possession, Leonard had taken over as chairman within
three months of their marriage. Something that had suited Leonard perfectly, as he had been able
to leave the work to others whilst he wined and dined and travelled abroad „on business‟.
Over the years Leonard had found a woman, or women, in every foreign city he visited—despite
the fact that he‟d had a wife and daughter waiting for him at home in London.
A wife who had loved him so much she had been willing to overlook Leonard‟s affairs as long as
he always came home to her. But as the years had slowly passed she had become more and more
disenchanted and bitter over the man who simply couldn‟t, or wouldn‟t, remain faithful to her.
To the extent that Stella had eventually begun drinking whenever Leonard was away from home,
in an effort to block out all thought of him with those other women.
Stella had been drinking heavily the night she had driven into a brick wall and been killed
instantly…
Eighteen-year-old Elizabeth had stood beside her mother‟s newly covered grave only days later,
and had watched as her father wept for his dead and disillusioned wife. She had sworn to herself
there and then that she would never, ever love someone in the same helpless way that her mother
had loved her father.
In the same way Maggie Sullivan had loved her husband?
It was ironic—unbelievable, really—that two people who were as unalike as Elizabeth and
Rogan undoubtedly were had both been shaped into the adults they now were by the unhappiness
of their parents‟ marriages.
Elizabeth: solitary, serious and academic, determined never to fall in love.
Rogan: just as solitary, but wild and untamed—untameable!—and just as determined never to
fall in love…
„Glass of red wine?‟ Rogan indicated the glass he held. „Elizabeth?‟ he prompted with a frown as
she made no effort to move away from the doorway of the drawing room.
But for the moment Elizabeth couldn‟t move. In fact, she had been rooted to the spot from the
moment she had first entered the room and seen Rogan.
A Rogan who looked so handsome this evening he literally took her breath away!
Over the last twenty-four hours she had become accustomed to seeing him in the black clothing
and boots he habitually wore, and which somehow seemed to suit the aura of danger that always
surrounded him.
Tonight he wore a silk shirt the colour of freshly brewed espresso coffee that hinted at the
muscled chest beneath rather than emphasised it, and a pair of expertly tailored trousers in the
same dark coffee colour. With his long hair brushed back from that intelligent brow, and those
dark, enigmatic eyes, Rogan appeared every bit as threatening, if not more so, as he had in the
black clothing he preferred.
„Elizabeth?‟ Rogan pressed again impatiently; what on earth was wrong with the woman?
After her earlier comments concerning the clothes he wore, he had deci